Where sheep so docile graze?

When eyes which once gave glances of sweet love
Now send cruel reproaches to my heart;
When grace unsought descended like a dove
But now with pain my skin does smart….

 At times these days of grief and loss seem harsh
As if some demon owns my inmost heart.
And without grace my lips are dry and parched.
with fear I shiver, tremble and I  start.

Shall I give retaliation for this hurt?
What weapon shall I use to vent my rage?
my lips were never fashioned to be curt.
My soul, no warrior eager war to wage

How shall I find my way out of this maze,
back to green fields where sheep so docile graze?